In The Doghouse
by SitaT'eyla
Summary: Malcolm's in the doghouse.


**Title**: In The Doghouse

**Author**: Sita/T'eyla

**Rating**: PG

**Genre**: Humor

**Warning**: Slash (Tucker/Reed)

**Summary**: Malcolm's in the doghouse.

**Disclaimer**:

_Herewith we state that with this story,_

_ We make no money, gain no glory -_

_ A little glory there may be,_

_ But certainly no writing fee._

_ 'Tis Paramount that rakes it in,_

_ We're poor as we have always been._

_ To spare our readers further pain,_

_ From rhyming we will now restrain,_

_ Now go and read the story, too,_

_ And in the end: Please do review!_

**AN**: Chasing plot bunnies, we stumbled upon the idea of Malcolm doing something to really get himself into the doghouse. It was harder than we thought it would be; Trip doesn't seem to be a person to send other people into doghouses! Oh, by the way, this is slash, so if you don't like that... you know the deal :). Big thanks to our beta reader Gabi for her input. Feedback and comments are always appreciated.

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He was walking down dark and windy Britton Street, pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders. Another gust of icy wind swirled up the dry leaves in the gutter, and Malcolm walked a little closer to the brick wall on his left to avoid them. The wind was cutting, and for some reason the street lamps were dark, the only source of light being the occasional lit window. Malcolm frowned. He wasn't really sure what he was doing here, and on second thought, he wasn't even sure if he actually wanted to know why he had come to this godforsaken place that he hadn't seen or even thought of in years.

Thinking that London's city management was getting sloppier every year, Malcolm threw an annoyed look at the dead street lamps, and pulled his windcheater even tighter. All the more it caught him by surprise when another strong gust of wind pulled the jacket out of his fingers and carried it away down the street. For a moment, Malcolm only stood there, wondering how this could have happened. Then he started running, reaching out-

-and his fingers hit the wall. The wall that was definitely not brick or stone, but the familiar smooth metal of Enterprise's bulkheads. Momentarily caught between Britton Street, his elusive jacket and deep space, Malcolm blinked and realized that he had been dreaming. Somehow, however, the chilly air of his dream seemed to have transferred into reality, and he shivered. There was something missing, and it was not the old, worn flannel jacket he used to wear in college, but...

Malcolm turned around. The item he'd been looking for was his blanket, which was currently wrapped around his sleeping partner's midst. Trip's own blanket was half-in and half-out of the bed, one corner of it covering Trip's right foot.

Malcolm sighed. When Trip got hold of a blanket in his sleep, then there was no way of recovering it except for pulling it out of Trip's cold dead hand, and Malcolm wasn't yet ready to take to such extreme measures. He sat up and groped in the dark for Trip's blanket. Trip chose this very moment to rearrange his feet, and the blanket slipped through Malcolm's fingers and to the floor.

Malcolm let out an explosive sigh; climbing over Trip in the dark in search of wayward blankets wasn't his idea of a good night's sleep. Then again, dreaming of chasing his jacket down Britton Street wasn't either.

Crawling to the foot end, he awkwardly clambered over Trip's legs and out of the bed, almost slipping on the blanket in the process. Trip had slept like a log through it all, and not for the first time Malcolm was amazed at his partner's ability to sleep through everything from a comm signal to a marching band rampaging through their shared quarters. Then again, Malcolm had to admit that he had never witnessed any musical outbursts in here, not counting the occasional harmonica practice.

_Stop it_, he told himself, bending down to pick up the blanket. Any more randomness, and he'd never get back to sleep. Coincidentally, his eyes fell on the luminous display of the alarm clock, and with a sigh, he shook out the hard-fought-for blanket and spread it over Trip. At ten to seven, he wasn't going to go back to bed for ten minutes and wait for the alarm to go off.

For a moment or two, he toyed with the thought of leaving on the alarm clock, then dismissed it as an idea born out of petty jealousy (Trip's shift started at nine, which allowed him to stay in bed for another hour).

Malcolm flicked the button that would turn off the alarm signal, and for a moment stood next to the bed, looking at his sleeping partner. As always, Trip was lying on his stomach, his arms sprawled across the bed. For a moment Malcolm imagined crawling back under the covers, spooning against Trip who would acknowledge his presence with a sleepy grunt and a snore. Then he turned away and trudged over to the bathroom. Oh well. His shift started at eight, and he had never been late for duty in all his time in Starfleet. He wouldn't start now.

The bathroom door closed behind him and Malcolm turned on the light, squinting at the sleepy face in the mirror. Maybe he should have listened to Trip last night, and gone to bed instead of finishing next month's duty roster.

Still half asleep, he picked up Trip's toothbrush that his partner had left on the edge of the sink and reinserted it in the holder. Trip left his toothbrush on the edge of the sink every night, and every morning Malcolm picked it up. After two months, his morning wouldn't have felt complete without it.

Malcolm took his own toothbrush out of the holder, squeezed toothpaste on it and reflected on the fact that it was now two months already that he was sharing quarters with Enterprise's Chief Engineer. Before Enterprise had launched for her second five-year-mission, Starfleet had decided to revise their fraternization policy - or, in fact, get rid of the out-dated "No Snogging" rule - giving their employees the option to legally do what they had been doing anyway and even share quarters if they wanted.

Given the fact that they had been in a relationship for over four years now, Trip had been all for ordering joint quarters, and Malcolm had agreed. And he liked it. Still. In the beginning, he had been a little nervous; he had never before in his life "played house" and wasn't sure if it would work out. But it was going all right. Trip was a little disorganized at times, but less so than Malcolm had expected, and he himself minded it less than he had thought he would. And it was nice not having to "commute" between quarters anymore. Their cabin, designed for two people and complete with a double bed and a small kitchen unit, was home now, even though it was a little more chaotic than Malcolm's old quarters had been.

Malcolm spat, then rinsed his toothbrush and put it back into the holder. Stripping out of his blue regulation briefs, he deposited them in the laundry hamper and stepped into the shower cubicle. The water didn't quite wake him up, either, and he decided to get himself an extra cup of coffee for breakfast. He was going to need it.

--

Eight hours after his first cup of coffee, Malcolm still hadn't quite managed to warm to the day. Time had stretched like chewing gum today, and somehow he felt as if he hadn't gotten any work done, although there hadn't been a minute's peace throughout his whole shift. He was looking forward to a nice cup of tea and a quiet hour of reading before Trip got home. Maybe they could go to the mess hall later on to grab some dinner, or maybe they would just turn in early tonight. He, for one, wouldn't mind not seeing any more of the crew today.

Stepping out of the turbolift, Malcolm quickened his pace at the thought of his peaceful quarters waiting for him. He would lie down on the bed with his book, maybe even doze a little until Trip came back, and maybe Trip would be in a cuddly mood and agree to give him a back rub.

These pleasant thoughts in mind, Malcolm hit the door panel and entered his dark quarters. After switching on the lights, he stayed where he was for a moment, his eyebrows drawing together in a frown. These were _not_ the more or less tidy quarters he had left this morning. The bed wasn't made, the blankets half on the bed and half on the floor, the door of the closet stood wide open and various parts of Trip's pajamas and underwear were scattered across the floor from the bed to the bathroom door. His frown intensifying still, Malcolm followed the trail his partner had left and opened the door to the head.

The chaos in here was even worse. Of course, Trip's toothbrush was back on the edge of the sink, but that was by far not the worst of it. The cap of the toothpaste was lying in the drain, and there were green spots all over the sink, as if someone had brushed his teeth in a great hurry and hadn't bothered to clean up afterwards. The same went for the shower. The walls of the cubicle were stained with dried shampoo, and there was a towel - Trip's towel - lying crumpled up on the floor in front of it. The lid of the toilet stood open, too.

Malcolm sighed and went over to the sink to screw the cap back onto the toothpaste before it dried up completely. As he put it on its intended place on the shelf, he noticed that it was _his_ razor that had been carelessly dropped next to the faucet, adorned with rests of the blond stubble Trip scraped off his chin in the morning. Malcolm pressed his lips together. Trip knew that Malcolm hated it when someone used his personal things, and it wasn't as if Mr. Tucker didn't have his own razor. Which, as Malcolm noticed, had somehow found its way from the shelf into the clothes hamper that stood on the floor below.

Heaving another sigh, Malcolm began to clean up the mess, picking things up and putting them back on their accustomed places, his annoyance growing with every item that he transferred back to where it belonged. As he scrubbed first the sink and then the shower, he had reached a point where he would have loved to stand by and watch how Mr. Tucker cleaned it all himself - with a toothbrush.

Fifteen minutes had passed when he finally returned to the main room and almost slipped on Trip's boxers that were lying directly in front of the bathroom door.

"Bloody hell!"

Malcolm grabbed Trip's discarded clothes, returned to the bathroom and threw them into the clothes hamper more forcefully than would have been necessary. As he walked back into the main room, he was all but stomping. The bed, of course, hadn't made itself in the meantime, and although Malcolm would have loved to make Trip clean up at least a little bit of the mess he had created, he set himself to the task of picking up the blankets and straightening the covers. He wasn't going to lie down on the bed when it was looking like this.

When he was finally done, he stretched out on the now tidy bed and closed his eyes for a moment. He wasn't in the mood for tea anymore, and the idea of reading his book didn't appeal to him either. This was not the first time he had had to clean up after his partner, and he was beginning to get just a little annoyed with Mr. Tucker's "après nous le déluge" attitude. It just seemed so careless, especially since Trip _knew_ that Malcolm hated to find his quarters in disorder.

Malcolm opened his eyes and reached for the padd that was lying on the nightstand. Lying here and indulging in a mental tirade was of no use; he might just as well get some work done. And besides, he was going to save the tirade for when Mr. Tucker made an appearance. He was not just going to let it pass this time.

He switched on the padd and began to leaf through the files, looking for his half-finished article on the new series of phase pistols R&D was working on. He had drafted a few diagrams he wanted to include, and now was as good a time to work on them as any.

Suddenly, he stopped scrolling through the listing of files. In the middle of his articles he had stumbled upon a directory with the obscure name of "MB-TopSecret-0902". Malcolm frowned. He had certainly never created this directory, let alone come up with such a hair-brained name for it. This had to be Trip's doing; his partner did have the tendency to spread his chaotic file system onto every padd available.

As Malcolm tried to access the contents, a prompt appeared in the middle of the screen, asking for the TopSecret Password. After a short moment of contemplation, Malcolm typed "TopSecret" into the text area, and clicked enter. A second later, the padd dropped from his hands as an unearthly screech rose from the small speaker.

"What the-" Frantically, Malcolm punched random buttons to stop the padd's wailing, then remembered to hit the mute switch. The screeching stopped, and at the same time the password prompt disappeared, leaving him staring at the mysterious file name again. For some reason, the words "TopSecret" made him even angrier. This was his padd, after all, and no file on it should be labeled secret, and require him to enter a password. And especially not a file that took up such a great amount of memory capacity.

_This is definitely the last straw_, Malcolm thought, still staring at the offending TopSecret. Trip's chaos and insane programming ploys were not going to invade his private working space. With grim determination, Malcolm told the padd to delete "MB-TopSecret-0902", and almost slammed his fist down on the display when another prompt appeared: "Delete MB-TopSecret-0902? Please enter the TopSecret Password."

_That's it_, Malcolm thought. _That is it._ _I've just had about enough of this nonsense._

Just yesterday he had saved a backup of his articles on his personal computer, and so there would be no damage done if he simply formatted the whole padd, deleting all existing data in the process. And if Trip got mad about his lost TopSecret nonsense, Malcolm would have a few choice words to say about leaving the toothpaste unscrewed and scattering useless files all over other people's data padds.

Malcolm punched in the order to start formatting, watching with a certain satisfaction as the percentage bar began to race across the screen. Two seconds later another prompt popped up, announcing that the formatting was complete and all existing data had been deleted.

Malcolm regarded it for a moment. Somehow along with the data part of his anger had disappeared as well, leaving him with a slightly guilty conscience. He knew that Trip never saved backups of his files. And this one had been big. Briefly, he considered trying to restore the data, but then the image of Trip's mess on the bathroom floor appeared before his mental eye, and Malcolm dropped the padd on the nightstand. Trip had to understand that he wasn't going to put up with this forever, and if it took sending a TopSecret directory to data heaven for this to happen, then so be it.

He got up and fetched the padd with the duty roster from his desk, then lay back down on the bed. Now that he had vented at least some of his anger, he might even get some work done.

--

The turbolift doors opened and let Trip out onto the corridor leading to his quarters. He had ended his shift a little later than usual to make up for the ten minutes he'd been late this morning, and was looking forward to some peace and quiet. If he was lucky Malcolm would be in a cuddly mood and maybe even agree to give him a back rub.

Trip smiled and walked a little faster at the thought. He still had to clean up the mess from his early-morning light-speed start after the alarm clock had failed to go off. He had woken up ten minutes before his shift started, and had moved a lot faster than a Tucker usually did in the morning, skipping breakfast to be even remotely on time for his duties. Despite the rushed start, his day had turned out pretty normal, and he made a mental note to check the settings of the alarm clock before he went to bed. A ten-second shower and shaving while he was brushing his teeth wasn't his ideal way to start the day.

Trip opened the door to his quarters and smiled when he saw Malcolm relaxing on the bed. He had only just remembered that today was Malcolm's early day, when the Lieutenant started and ended his shift an hour earlier than Trip. Malcolm was typing something on a padd, and seemed so absorbed that he hardly looked up when Trip came in. Trip smiled at the sight. Malcolm looked awfully sweet, concentrating so hard that he even forgot to brush back the stray lock that had fallen into his forehead.

"Hey, darlin'."

At that, Malcolm did look up, but only briefly. He said nothing, and Trip frowned. At a closer look he had to admit that Malcolm didn't look all that sweet after all, at least not now. His eyebrows were drawn together in a frown, and there was something about the way his lips formed a thin line that bode trouble.

_Bad day_, Trip thought, letting out a small mental sigh as he gave up any hopes of enticing Malcolm into an hour of cuddling before they went to sleep. At least it seemed as if Malcolm hadn't been in the bathroom yet. If Malcolm had seen the mess in the bathroom, the first thing greeting Trip on entering the quarter wouldn't have been a glare and a frown, but a flying roll of toilet paper.

Still, cuddling seemed out of the question tonight. When Malcolm had a bad day, you might as well try to cuddle a cactus. Trip went straight to the bathroom, thinking that he might as well clean up his mess right now before the sight of it could worsen Malcolm's already foul mood.

As he opened the door to the head however, he was greeted by scrubbed tiles and tidiness. None of the stuff he had scattered all over the bathroom was where he had left it; everything was in its place and clean, to boot.

_Aw, hell_. Trip hadn't been planning on Malcolm having to clean up after him, he had simply forgotten that Malcolm would be home earlier today.

He turned around and put on a smile that he hoped looked both apologetic and conciliatory.

"Thanks for cleanin' up, Mal," he said. "Sorry I left the bathroom like that. I was in quite a hurry this mornin'."

"Were you," Malcolm said, never looking up from his padd.

_Uh-oh. _Trip took another step into the room, feeling as if he were walking into the lion's den.

"Malcolm...," he began. "Look, I was really late this mornin'. I was gonna clean it up after my shift."

"How convenient." Deliberately slowly, Malcolm laid his padd aside and looked up. "Well, I've already taken care of it, haven't I."

_Definitely a bad day_, Trip thought, choosing his words very carefully as he answered. "I'm sorry, Malcolm, but I really didn't have the time to clean up this mornin', I was ten minutes late as it was."

"Again," Malcolm said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Perhaps if you set your alarm a little earlier, this wouldn't happen so often."

Trip gritted his teeth, but was careful to keep his voice calm. "Look, Malcolm, you didn't have to clean it up. I was gonna do it right after my shift."

Malcolm's lips grew even thinner. "Well, I wasn't going to spend one hour sitting here and staring at the mess you left. You know that perfectly well, Trip."

Trip felt himself beginning to lose his temper. Whatever was eating Malcolm tonight, it was starting to rub off on him as well. "You needn't have gone into the bathroom," he said. "You wouldn't even have seen the mess."

Malcolm didn't even deign to answer this last remark. "The whole place was looking like a pigsty when I came back from my shift. I spent more than half an hour cleaning it up."

"C'mon, Mal, you're makin' it sound as if I took a chainsaw to the furniture," Trip said. His attempt at levity was not appreciated by Malcolm, who got up from the bed.

"Don't try to make a joke out of it, Trip. This wasn't the first time I had to clean up after you. You're always leaving your things lying around, your side of the closet looks as if a tornado had blown through it, when you leave the bathroom there isn't a dry spot anywhere over the place, and I'm not even going to mention your desk."

"Come on, Malcolm, you know it's not that bad-"

"I've got better things to do than cleaning up your chaos three times a day!" Malcolm had raised his voice. "I'm sick and tired of playing mummy to you!"

"Well, I'm not askin' you to!" There was nothing sweet about Malcolm now; in fact he reminded Trip of the nasty little terrier that used to yap at him through a picket fence on his way to school. "You need to relax a little, it's not as if I haven't made allowances."

"And what kind of allowances would that be?" Malcolm's voice had dropped to at least minus ten degrees. "Kindly allowing me to clean up as long as you can leave as much of a mess as you want?"

Sometimes, just sometimes, Trip could have cheerfully strangled his partner. "That's just not fair, Malcolm," he said hotly. "So maybe I left a mess today, but at least I'm not takin' it out on you every time I'm havin' a bad day."

"Oh yes, right," Malcolm sneered. "So every time I criticize you, you conveniently assume I'm having a bad day and put it off as nagging. Very smooth, Trip."

Trip had had enough. "You know what, Malcolm," he said, turning away, "this is gettin' ridiculous. Why don't you try to calm down, and we can talk about this later."

"Right," Malcolm spat, turned around and stalked back to the bed. Ostentatiously turning his back on Trip, he lay back down and returned to his padd.

Inwardly, Trip shook his head. _Someone needs to stick his head into a bucket of cold water_, he thought. He had no idea what had put Malcolm into such a foul mood, and after this scene he didn't really care to ask either. _Let him stew in his own juice for a while, maybe he'll feel better afterwards._

He went over to the nightstand and picked up the padd he had left there last night. Malcolm didn't even spare him a glance and Trip retreated to his desk chair. He wasn't going to try and lie down next to Malcolm; he was still pretty worked up, but he didn't have a death wish yet.

Trip turned on the padd, and frowned. Instead of the usual listing of directories, there was only a blank space on the screen. For a moment, Trip thought he had picked up the wrong padd, but then he recognized the small label in the padd's upper right corner, identifying the padd as Malcolm's storage drive for his articles. Trip had used it because there was still quite a lot of memory capacity left, and because it had been handy when he had looked for a place to store his project. Now, however, the padd looked as if it had never been used at all.

He looked over at his partner, who was still facing away from him.

"Malcolm... " he began, waiting for a reaction. There was none. "Malcolm," he said again, trying to sound neutral, "you didn't format your articles padd today, did you?"

Malcolm answered without turning around. "I wasn't planning on it, but yes, I did."

Trip only sat there, not moving. This wasn't happening. Not because Malcolm was in the foulest mood Trip had ever seen him in and had wanted to get back at him for messing up the bathroom.

Malcolm had obviously noticed his silence, turned around and sat up. "Don't give me that look", he said, and for a moment Trip thought he had heard a defensive note in his voice. "You know perfectly well I hate it when you use my things."

"You actually deleted it?" Trip asked softly. Malcolm got up from the bed. For some reason, he looked even angrier than before.

"Yes, I actually deleted it," he said, and his tone was almost scathing. "And I actually don't want you to use my padds, and I actually don't want you to scatter your files all over my storage drives. You know, I for my part take my work seriously."

Trip knew he couldn't listen to this any longer. He got up, and to his dismay noticed that his eyes were getting blurry. He blinked it away, careful not to look at Malcolm, and walked past the other man to the bed. Not saying a word, he gathered up Malcolm's pillow and blanket, turned around and dumped them in the arms of his surprised partner.

"Get out," he said quietly. "Just get out."

"Trip?" Malcolm asked. All venom had disappeared from his voice to be replaced by something akin to worry, and suddenly Trip was furious.

"Get out!" he yelled. Malcolm flinched and took a step backwards. Then, with a last unsure glance over his shoulder, he opened the door and left the room, his blanket trailing on the floor behind him.

For a moment, Trip stared at the closed door, then turned around and kicked the waste basket so that it sailed across the room. Its contents spilled all over the floor, and looking at the mess, Trip suddenly didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

--

Malcolm was standing in the corridor, holding his bedding, momentarily at a loss what to do. The moment his uncalled-for remark about taking his work seriously had left his mouth, he had wished that he could take it back, knowing that he had gone too far. When he had noticed that Trip was close to tears, he could have kicked himself, but at the time had been too dumbfounded to do the right thing and apologize immediately. Next thing he'd known, he'd been standing out here, staring at the closed bulkhead.

Trip had been right, absolutely right to throw him out, and so Malcolm didn't even try to knock at the door. Instead, he turned into a random direction and began walking with no actual idea of where he was going. The expression on Trip's face was still vivid in his mind, and Malcolm couldn't believe the things he recalled himself saying. He had no idea what had brought this on, why he had so totally lost it. True, he hadn't had the best of days, but still...

Malcolm walked around a corner, so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice Hoshi until it was too late. Their collision was cushioned by the bedding Malcolm was carrying, and Hoshi caught his pillow before it could drop to the floor.

"Whoa, Malcolm, careful," she said, placing the pillow back on the blanket bundle in his arms. Then she took a closer look at him, and raised an eyebrow. "Are you airing the bedding?" she asked, a grin appearing on her face.

Malcolm sighed. "No," he said, thinking that he should add an explanation but unable to come up with one.

The grin on Hoshi's face mingled with disbelief. "Trip didn't throw you out, did he?" she asked, the tone of her voice implying that she could not really believe such a thing to happen.

Malcolm shifted the pile of blankets, trying to hide behind it. "What gives you the idea?" he muttered.

She chuckled. "Let's see... maybe the pillow and the blankets you're carrying gave it away."

Malcolm heaved another sigh. "Well," he said. There wasn't much else he could say.

Hoshi shook her head. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, taking the pillow off the pile so she could look at his face.

He shrugged somewhat helplessly. "Well," he said again, beginning to feel immensely stupid.

Hoshi sighed and took his arm. "Come on," she said. "Maybe we shouldn't have this conversation on the corridor, and it looks like you need a couch for the night, anyway."

Malcolm allowed himself to be led down the corridor towards Hoshi's quarters, realizing how weird this must look to any potential passers-by, but not really caring. He had so royally buggered up tonight, becoming the laughing stock of his crewmates didn't really make a difference anymore.

--

"So," Hoshi said, after Malcolm had taken a seat on the couch, putting his bedding down beside him. "Now tell me, what have you done to poor Trip?"

"I... I don't know," Malcolm said, realizing he wasn't being quite truthful but not knowing how to explain what had happened. "We just..." He trailed off.

Hoshi handed him a steaming cup of tea, and sat down on her bed, pulling up her feat. "Well, you must have done _something_," she stated. "Trip's such a nice person, he wouldn't just kick you out because you two were fighting."

Malcolm slid down a little on the couch, feeling guiltier than ever. Hoshi was right, Trip _was_ a nice person; he was forgiving, kind and most of the time very patient when it came to Malcolm's peculiarities and moods. He, on the other hand, was a horrible person, as he had so vividly demonstrated tonight. He'd been irritable, cantankerous and irrational, and had finally managed to piss Trip off so badly that the other man no longer wanted him around.

"No, he wouldn't," he admitted, plucking at a corner of his blanket.

"Oh dear." Hoshi sighed. "So, what did you do?"

Just to have something to do with his hands, Malcolm took a sip of his tea. "Well, when I came home after my shift, our quarters were a mess. I guess Trip slept through the alarm again, I don't know; anyway, he was in a hurry and left the bathroom looking as if a bomb had struck."

"Maybe the alarm didn't go off," Hoshi said.

Malcolm shook his head. "Why shouldn't it go off. I set it myself before I -" He broke off, remembering the sleep-blurred minutes after he had woken from his dream, when he had switched off the alarm. Switched off both alarms, wasting no thought on the fact that Trip wouldn't simply wake up later on.

Hoshi regarded him with raised eyebrows. "What?" she asked.

"I'm an idiot," Malcolm answered, resigning to the fact that he had been absolutely, totally, completely in the wrong. "Just shoot me, please."

"Can't be bothered with the paper work," Hoshi said and grinned. "Let me guess... it was your fault the alarm didn't go off?"

Malcolm nodded in shame. "Something like that."

Hoshi took a quick swallow of her tea, and Malcolm suspected that she was trying to smother a laugh.

"It's not funny," he said, almost wincing at his plaintive tone. "You know, I really..."

Hoshi finished the sentence for him. "You really gave him hell for leaving a mess and didn't even ask him why he was late. Right?"

Malcolm was silent for a moment, then sighed. _In for a penny, in for a pound_, he thought. "Even worse," he said.

Hoshi's eyes widened fractionally. "Worse?" she repeated. "What did you _do_? Break his harmonica?"

Malcolm glared at her. "Very funny."

Hoshi grew serious again. "Sorry," she said. "It's just that you two... well, anyway, what did you do?"

Malcolm briefly considered asking what it was about the two of them, but then decided that he'd rather not know. "I deleted one of his files," he said instead.

Hoshi frowned. "Deleted one of his files? Why?"

Malcolm sighed. "Well, he'd stored it on one of my padds, and password-protected it," he said, feeling petty and ridiculous as he was saying it out loud. Facing the truth, he sounded like a three-year-old complaining that another kid had taken his toy truck.

Hoshi seemed to be thinking along the same lines, but was too diplomatic to say so. "What sort of file?" she asked.

Malcolm shrugged. "I have no idea. It was something like MB-TopSecret and a bunch of numbers."

At this, Hoshi almost dropped her cup of tea. "_You deleted it?_"

Malcolm looked up, a little surprised at her reaction. "Yeah, I did," he said somewhat defensively. "I had no idea it was important."

Hoshi pinched the bridge of her nose. "Malcolm," she said. "It _was_ important, and deleting it was about the worst thing you could have done."

Malcolm frowned. "How do you know it was important?"

Hoshi looked as if she would have liked to bang her head against the wall. "The numbers in the file name, they weren't by any chance 0902?"

Malcolm nodded, confused. "How do you know?"

Hoshi groaned. "Malcolm," she said. "Try to use that lump between your ears for a change."

Malcolm was beginning to feel even more of an idiot, but he had no idea what Hoshi was talking about. "What about the numbers?" he asked.

Hoshi sighed. "Think, Malcolm," she said. "What date is today?"

"August 28," Malcolm said. "Why?"

But he didn't need Hoshi to answer his question. Suddenly the obscure file name made sense, and he set his tea aside, burying his face in his hands. "Oh no."

"MB," Hoshi said. "Malcolm's birthday. And then the date. How could you?"

Malcolm only groaned. "Please tell me this wasn't some sort of birthday surprise. Please."

Hoshi was merciless. "Of course it was," she said. "Trip came to me three weeks ago, and asked me to help him pick the best pictures of you and him. He's been talking about it all the time, and spent hours in the mess hall getting it just right."

Malcolm wished he could have crawled into a torpedo and shot himself out the launching tube. It seemed the best - the only - thing he could do.

"Just shoot me, Hoshi," he repeated. "Please."

Hoshi crossed her arms in front of her chest. "I'd love to" she said. "But I think I'll leave that to Trip."

They sat in silence for a while, Hoshi sipping her tea and Malcolm indulging in the mental image of banging his head against the wall until it burst. With no head to call his own, at least he would no longer be able to do and say such careless, thoughtless things as he had today.

"What do I do now?" he asked eventually, looking back at Hoshi.

Hoshi sighed. "Have you thought of apologizing to him?"

Malcolm lowered his eyes and picked up his tea again. "I can't," he said. "Not right now. He'd just kick me out again. I would if I were him."

"Probably," Hoshi said. "You really screwed up this time, huh?"

Malcolm nodded, and another moment of silence followed.

Eventually, Hoshi got up and carried her tea over to the counter. "Well, why don't you camp out on my couch tonight," she said. "That'll give Trip a little time to cool down and think about things. And as for tomorrow, I think I have an idea..."

--

Trip yawned and squinted at the alarm clock. It was only half past six in the morning. Not a time to wake up on his day off. Yawning again, he turned over and reached out to wrap his arm around Malcolm, frowning when instead of his partner's familiar warmth he only encountered thin air. He opened his eyes and blinked a couple of times; Malcolm also had the day off, and even though his partner was a notorious early riser, he usually didn't get up before seven if he didn't have to.

Then Trip saw the empty half of the bed, and the events of the evening before returned to his mind and drove away the last remnants of sleep. For the first time ever in their relationship, he had actually kicked Malcolm out, and his partner had not come back last night as Trip had half-hoped he would.

After he had spent one hour restoring the files Malcolm had deleted (fortunately, he had managed to recover all of the almost finished photo album, and in the latest version, too), his anger had almost vanished, leaving behind only slight confusion and hurt at Malcolm's outburst. He would have liked to talk to Malcolm about it, but had had no idea where the other man had gone, and he hadn't wanted to go looking for him all over the ship. At the time, he had still been too worked up.

Now, however, the empty bed was starting to feel more and more uncomfortable by the minute, and Trip found himself wishing that Malcolm were here, bristly and snarky as he was. His partner could be a real anal-retentive pest, but at least he was Trip's pest.

Sighing, Trip lay there for a moment, then reached out and fished for the fateful padd he had left on the bedside table the night before. Since he wasn't going to go back to sleep anyway, he might as well use the time to add a few finishing touches to the album. Typing in the TopSecret Password, he accessed the restored file, and the current final page of the album appeared on the screen. Trip smiled at the sight of Malcolm standing in front of the stove in his apartment back in San Francisco, frantically stirring something in a pot. Trip vividly remembered the occasion when Malcolm had decided that instead of eating out, they would have a good, home-cooked meal for a change, and had whipped up the worst lasagna Trip had ever eaten. All through the meal, Trip had tried to look as if he didn't feel like chewing on a dough-covered brick, while Malcolm had only poked at his plate as if he expected the lasagna to turn against its creator in revenge for its miserable existence. After Trip had managed to choke down a few bites, Malcolm had taken pity on all three of them and had transferred the contents of their plates into the waste basket, remarking that he would really like to try the new Thai place down the street. The lasagna disaster hadn't proved detrimental to their evening after all, and Trip fondly remembered strolling back home down the busy street hand in hand with Malcolm.

He passed about an hour working on the album, adding a few more pictures and comments. When his eyes began to droop, he hit the button to save the changes he'd made and turned off the padd, rolling onto his back. A few more minutes before he got up wouldn't hurt.

The door signal sounded, startling Trip out of his doze. Momentarily disoriented, he blinked at the alarm clock and saw that it was half past nine.

Briefly, Trip hesitated, the he called, "Come!"

The door opened, and as Trip had expected, it was Malcolm standing outside in the corridor. What he had not expected, however, was the tray Malcolm was holding, laden with more cups and plates than Trip would have expected to fit onto a standard mess hall tray. The smell of eggs, bacon and coffee wafted through the room.

Malcolm smiled somewhat anxiously across the stacks of pancakes and toast. "Good morning," he said a little timidly.

Trip caught himself just in time before a smile crept onto his face. He gave Malcolm the once-over, and derived a certain evil satisfaction from the way his partner almost started to fidget. He grunted noncommittally, and Malcolm ventured a step forward.

"May I come in?"

"Well, since you're already here, you might as well," Trip said, doing his best to sound gruff. Malcolm came in, the door closing behind him. He hesitated for a moment, then walked over to the bed and set the tray down on the nightstand. He remained standing in front of the bed like a convict with the noose already around his neck.

Trip shifted to make room for him. "For God's sake, Malcolm, sit down," he said.

Malcolm complied, sitting down on the very edge of the bed. "Trip," he began, and Trip saw him taking a deep breath before he continued. "I... I want to apologize for yesterday. The things I said were completely uncalled for, and so was deleting your files. There's no excuse for my behavior, especially since it was my fault you were late in the morning. You had every right to throw me out, and-"

"Why was it your fault?" Trip interrupted what was obviously a well rehearsed confession of guilt.

Malcolm sighed, the tips of his ears growing red. "... y'lrmof," he muttered.

"Scuse me?"

Malcolm took another deep breath. "I turned your alarm off," he said.

Trip stared at him. "You what?"

"Yeah, well, see, I woke up ten to seven, and I wanted to turn off my alarm so you wouldn't wake up, but I didn't realize that I had turned off both alarms and, well..."

Trip couldn't help himself, he burst out laughing. Malcolm gave him an unsure look, then a careful smile appeared on his face.

Trip shook his head. "You're weird, Malcolm, you know that?"

Malcolm smiled ruefully. "So... apology accepted?"

"Hmm..." Trip leaned back, crossed his arms behind his head and pretended to think. "Well, let's see... you let me sleep in, you brought me breakfast in bed, you came up with such a nice speech, and I was able to restore the files you deleted... so, yeah, I guess the apology is accepted."

Malcolm slid a little closer and grinned. "I find the way you're enjoying this quite scary," he said.

Trip answered his grin and glanced over at the tray on the nightstand. "You didn't happen to bring any waffles, did you?"

"As a matter of fact, I did. I even got some whipped cream." Malcolm got up and went over to the kitchen unit, then returned to the bed with two plates and cups. Trip found himself hiding a smile as he watched Malcolm busy himself with stacking waffles and pancakes on a plate and adding a generous amount of whipped cream and maple syrup.

Trip accepted the plate Malcolm handed him, but before he began to eat he rested a hand on Malcolm's arm.

"It's okay, Mal," he said. Malcolm met his eyes, obviously not quite convinced, and Trip added, "Really."

As sweet as it was to see Malcolm trying to get back on his good side, Trip wasn't going to make his partner grovel. If he was being honest with himself, he'd had forgiven Malcolm even before the other man had appeared at the door with a breakfast tray in his hands.

Malcolm seemed to know what he was thinking and smiled. Coating one of the pancakes with peanut butter, and transferring it onto his plate, he nudged Trip a little to make him move over and slipped onto the bed beside him.

Through a mouthful of waffles and whipped cream, Trip said, "Been some time since we had breakfast in bed together. Should kick you out more often."

Malcolm smirked. "Perhaps you should." He ate another piece of pancake, then added, "We always seem to draw the wrong lesson from these things, don't we."

Trip swallowed and chuckled. "More's the fun."

As he picked up another waffle to feed to Malcolm, he figured that the day could only get better.

The End

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